


Punica Granatum

by LazyCakes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), LOL yeah Rating WILL change, M/M, Rating May Change, What Did You Fucking Expect?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29304063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyCakes/pseuds/LazyCakes
Summary: I'm here to use Will Graham as a vessel for my sass and you're here, presumably, to see Hannibal eat some people, so let's see what we can do together.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, maybe that weird cave wasn't the safest, but damn if it didn't make for good fishing!

The man doesn’t hesitate as he steps out into the water, not even a halfway glance to the tunneling cave behind him that the river feeds into. 

Of course, then, he thinks himself alone, lifting and tossing his fishing line with languid, practiced movements. 

He doesn’t know what he’s standing in front of, what he isn’t guarding against. 

He’s somewhat unassuming, what with his vest made entirely of pockets, rubber waders all the way to his thighs over worn denim, a frankly ridiculous canvas bucket hat over cherubine, untamed curls. 

Not even the figure lurking in the cavern behind him knows why he’s so entrancing, just that he is. 

Maybe it’s that look in his eyes, a lost soul who refuses to admit it, or the calm tenor of his voice, humming along with the birds that don’t sing today. If the silence of the woods typically alive with birdsong bothers him, he doesn’t let it show, and if he senses that the fish have all swum away, he isn’t giving up. 

He pulls his line in again, tosses it out, and it catches on a log under the current. With an exasperated sigh that’s half a curse, he begins to wade out, further into the water, to detangle it. 

He doesn’t notice, then, that he’s being approached from behind. 

He doesn’t notice the cold, forced-stable hands that flutter around his shoulders, and in fact, by the time he realizes he isn’t as alone as he thought, he’s already unconscious, slumping backwards. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yes Percy Jackson, the Disney Hercules film, and pretty much any post-Hellenistic telling of the abduction of Persephone/Proserpina can suck my dick and my four classes of Greco-Roman Art education will stand by and applaud when I cum

When Will startles awake with a cold gasp of breath, he’s certain it was more than just another nightmare, mostly thanks to the fact that it isn’t his bed beneath him. 

And that he isn’t wearing his own clothes. There’s that, too.

And that, as disoriented as he still is, absolutely everything about the room around him is  _ wrong.  _

He’s staring up at a ceiling of roughly hewn stone, easily a dozen feet above him, and the room is humid and cold, his gasping echoing unnaturally. The lights are suffused in bars along the ceiling, art-housey in a way that’s certainly too expensive for a mental institute, so at least there’s that.

He manages to roll onto his side and finds his joints burning their protest; as soon as they move, they ache horribly, and his head is set spinning.

But he manages to flop weakly over, facing dark sheets that feel somehow unreal, and standing in the doorway to the room, a man watches him with folded arms.

Will realizes he doesn’t have his glasses as he squints; does he recognize this guy? 

Tailored suit, thin mouth, deep, inscrutable eyes...he’s not a board member at the college, that’s certain, but Will can’t think of any other fancy men who would know him.

“Hello.” The man says once Will’s done squinting. “I can’t imagine you are feeling too comfortable, and for that I offer my apologies.”

“Who the hell are you?” Will asks. 

The stranger’s lip quirks up on one side, though he doesn’t move in any other way. 

“Wouldn’t you rather know where you are?”

“Well, sure, eventually, but I’d first like confirmation that you’re not, like, a cannibal or something.”

The man uncrosses his arms, but again, if there’s any sign of kindness (or cruelty) to him, it’s one Will cannot see.

“I can promise, I will not eat you. In fact, I should like to avoid harming you at all.”

Will manages to sit up, though not by much, just enough to prop his shoulders against the headboard, and the man tuts. “Don’t strain yourself, you’ll likely be weak for a few hours more.”

“What happened?” 

“I thought you had other questions.”

“Well, it’s not like they’re getting answered!”

The stranger walks into the room and eases a hip onto the mattress. Every move he makes feels artificial. Calculated. Like he isn’t used to his body, or like he expects it to be harder to control than it is. He looks Will over unreadably, but closer, his eyes are terrifyingly inhuman. Whatever’s really behind them is a million years old, and  _ starving.  _

“You are in quite a bit of trouble, I’m afraid. Your secret fishing spot is...well, you’re practically in my doorway. I wouldn’t often take trespassing so lightly, but...I seem forgotten, most days.”

“It’s federal land.” Will says, slowly, choosing to focus on the only thing this man has said that’s made sense yet. “The nearest private property is on the other side of the campground.” 

“Laws of men mean very little to me. I have been here far longer than any government.” 

Will manages a hoarse laugh. 

“You’re expecting me to believe you’re, what, a god? With a  _ British _ accent? Am I to understand that I’ve been kidnapped?” 

Will tries to stand, but no sooner does he swing his legs to the side of the bed than the man’s hands are firm around his shoulders, pushing him back down. All Will can do is obey, at least while his head spins.

“I honestly don’t care what you believe, but you cannot push yourself like this, you’ll wind up very sick.” 

Will considers throwing a punch for a single wild second, and the man above him must sense it. He sighs and stands up from the bed, and Will can scarcely gather the strength to roll his head to watch him.

“I don’t much like the term  _ kidnap, _ but it’s certainly fair that you couldn’t leave without my permission. I shouldn’t like to overwhelm you. We’ll talk again after you’ve had some rest.” 

“I have a whole pack of dogs to take care of. I’ve got a  _ job,  _ and coworkers expecting to hear from me by the end of the day.” 

The man pauses in the doorway.

“How long do you think you were unconscious? An hour, maybe two?”

Will bites down on nothing. There are no windows here, wherever  _ here _ is, and though he’d assumed the aches were from whatever drug he’s been given, now he can’t be sure.  The man doesn’t seem to care if he gets an answer. “I promise, your pets have been cared for, and by the very coworker who was expecting you. I saw to that much, at least.”

“Doctor Bloom?” Will manages. She’s smart, she’s compassionate, if anybody were to worry about him disappearing, it’d be her, and if anybody were smart enough to find him…

“I don’t even know your name, I must be honest. It’s not as if she wandered into your home with a name tag on, you know.”

“You abducted me without knowing my  _ name? _ ”

“It’s not as if it were stitched into your underwear or painted onto your tackle box, and though you said as much rather sarcastically, it’s hardly the duty of a thing that’s lived as long as I have to find meaning in names.”

Will’s head is spinning uncontrollably, now, and he’s sure his consciousness is failing him. 

“You’re going to stick by the god thing? At least tell me which one, am I meant to praise Allah, or Zeus, or Jesus, or Odin? I’ll take a figure from Magic: The Gathering, at this point.”

The man crosses his arms again. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting Will to stay awake for this long, and he doesn’t seem fond of having his plans thrown off. 

“If proper introductions matter so much to you, then it would be rude for me to go first.”

Will sets his jaw as he considers. Is there, really, any harm to this crazy man (and yes, he really is a man, no matter how much Will is tempted to think otherwise) knowing his name? He’s already abducted, what more can it hurt?

“Will Graham.” He says with the last of his consciousness. 

“Well, Will, you may call me Hannibal. Though I suspect you won’t be able to say much more for a good while.”

And like a command, Will’s consciousness fades heavy into the mattress beneath him, white into the lights above him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway Hannibal sucks but damn if it isn't fun to write about and DAMN if Will's sass isn't an unappreciated element of his character


	3. Chapter 3

Hannibal — it’s as good a name as any, really — frowns over the limp body in his guest room, which has never seen use before now. 

He didn’t know what he had been expecting (nothing, if he were honest, but he’d never admit to not thinking ahead), but this wasn’t it, the sharp wit and somehow weary, resigned anger that Will Graham had managed to muster when he shouldn’t have been conscious at all. 

He’s a survivor, to be sure.

He’ll fit in here, when he can.

Hannibal — it’s a fine name, if a bit mouthy — watches his new companion — he certainly isn’t a  _ prisoner,  _ that’s not his style — breathe a few moments longer, chest rising and falling through pale grey cloth, before turning away, back down the hall.

He stops first by his office, huge, empty, and sees no new appointments on his schedule, thankfully. He wants time to prepare for Will’s stay, indefinite as it’s sure to be, and unexpected interruptions will do no good.

He straightens a few stacks of documents on his desk as he looks around. The room’s as modern as he cares to make it, and he’s never had a client complain, but now he wonders if the high ceiling, the lofted second floor, comes off as too posh, snobby.

Hannibal — it’s not a fantastic name, but it was all that had come to mind in the moment — steps further into his office, reclining carefully in his chair, across from the identical one meant for his clients.

It doesn’t fit properly under him, not the way he’s used to, and creaks when he crosses his legs. 

Frowning, he stands again and leaves the room. 

The kitchen, too, feels too large like this, the silent, gleaming glassware difficult to reach, the wine cupboard low enough to have to stoop for it. Altogether unsatisfying, really, and the dining room is hardly better, table long and unused for a very, very long time.

Hannibal — alright, it’s really too mouthy of a name, but it’s too late to change it now — crosses his arms and leans the weight of this awkward body onto one hip, tapping a finger against his bicep.

It isn’t the rooms that are wrong so much as he is, in this puny human form with too many guts and so few bones, but he can get used to it, he can adapt.

It’s rather exciting, to have someone else to share this place and his habits with, unconscious though he currently is.

He’ll be hungry, when he wakes, and Hannibal would like to get that part out of the way as quickly as he can, so he moves smoothly back to the kitchen, tugging his recipe box out of its hidden spot above the refrigerator. 

It’s a special occasion, and even though he always gives mealtime his best effort, the prospect of doing so for  _ someone else  _ is exhilarating.

It’s been so very long since he’s had proper company. 

Smoothing his hands down his stomach until his jacket disappears, an apron taking its place, he rolls his sleeves up and leafs through the cards in the recipe box. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaah yeah not a lot is happening but listen it's not like the show was exactly pace-perfect either
> 
> Also Hannibal totally just picked the first name that came to mind and he's gonna regret it big time

**Author's Note:**

> Miss me with any & all Lore Olympus shit I'm too queer for that and I mean it


End file.
